You've drawn first blood,
It rolls down my skin.
With a soft thud,
My world begins to spin.
It turns me over and over,
As the moon would the tide,
Like that first kiss from a lover,
The first glimpse of the bride.
Next is the scent,
A tinge of copper.
On its slow descent,
I begin to stir.
A soft taste of metal
Envelopes the lips,
The wound has now settled.
Quivering, my mind slips.
To that first touch,
However delicate
T'was clearly too much
And I am left desolate.
A rose's thorns.
Tomorrow I'll prepare
To have the blood adorn'd,
From that first tear.
This was written with the idea of how similar love is to when you try and pluck a rose. You may mishandle it when you first try, the rose will cut you and leave you bleeding. But you can't let that stop you from trying to get another rose. Wear that blood proudly as you try again, learn from the mistakes you made the first time. Take everything you can from it, the scent, the look of the flower, the taste.
